The Little Dream | Page 8

like, he will not let me see.
LAMOND. Will you not come, then, little soul?
SEELCHEN. Always to dance?
LAMOND: Not so!
THE SHUTTERS of the houses are suddenly thrown wide. In a lighted
room on one aide of the Inn are seen two pale men and a woman,
amongst many clicking machines. On the other side of the Inn, in a
forge, are visible two women and a man, but half clothed, making
chains.
SEELCHEN. [Recoiling from both sights, in turn] How sad they look
--all! What are they making?
In the dark doorway of the Inn a light shines out, and in it is seen a
figure, visible only from the waist up, clad in gold-cloth studded with
jewels, with a flushed complacent face, holding in one hand a glass of
golden wine.
SEELCHEN. It is beautiful. What is it?
LAMOND. Luxury.
SEELCHEN. What is it standing on? I cannot see.
Unseen, THE WINE HORN'S mandolin twangs out.
LAMOND. For that do not look, little soul.
SEELCHEN. Can it not walk? [He shakes his head] Is that all they
make here with their sadness?
But again the mandolin twangs out; the shutters fall over the houses;
the door of the Inn grows dark.
LAMOND. What is it, then, you would have? Is it learning? There are
books here, that, piled on each other, would reach to the stars! [But
SEELCHEN shakes her head] There is religion so deep that no man
knows what it means. [But SEELCHEN shakes her head] There is

religion so shallow, you may have it by turning a handle. We have
everything.
SEELCHEN. Is God here?
LAMOND. Who knows? Is God with your goats? [But SEELCHEN
shakes her head] What then do you want?
SEELCHEN. Life.
The mandolin twangs out.
LAMOND. [Pointing to his breast] There is but one road to life.
SEELCHEN. Ah! but I do not love.
LAMOND. When a feather dies, is it not loving the wind--the unknown?
When the day brings not new things, we are children of sorrow. If
darkness and light did not change, could we breathe? Child! To live is
to love, to love is to live-seeking for wonder. [And as she draws nearer]
See! To love is to peer over the edge, and, spying the little grey flower,
to climb down! It has wings; it has flown--again you must climb; it
shivers, 'tis but air in your hand--you must crawl, you must cling, you
must leap, and still it is there and not there--for the grey flower flits like
a moth, and the wind of its wings is all you shall catch. But your eyes
shall be shining, your cheeks shall be burning, your breast shall be
panting--Ah! little heart! [The scene falls darker] And when the night
comes--there it is still, thistledown blown on the dark, and your white
hands will reach for it, and your honey breath waft it, and never, never,
shall you grasp that wanton thing--but life shall be lovely. [His voice
dies to a whisper. He stretches out his arms]
SEELCHEN. [Touching his breast] I will come.
LAMOND. [Drawing her to the dark doorway] Love me!
SEELCHEN. I love!
The mandolin twangs out, the doorway for a moment is all glamorous;
and they pass through. Illumined by the glimmer of the lamp the Youth
of THE WINE Hour is seen again. And slowly to the chords of his
mandolin he begins to sing:
"The windy hours through darkness fly Canst hear them little heart?
New loves are born, and old loves die, And kissing lips must part.
"The dusky bees of passing years Canst see them, soul of mine-- From
flower and flower supping tears, And pale sweet honey wine?
[His voice grown strange and passionate]
"O flame that treads the marsh of time. Flitting for ever low. Where,

through the black enchanted slime. We, desperate, following go
Untimely fire, we bid thee stay! Into dark air above. The golden gipsy
thins away-- So has it been with love!"
While he is singing, the moon grows pale, and dies. It falls dark, save
for the glimmer of the lamp beneath which he stands. But as his song
ends, the dawn breaks over the houses, the lamp goes out--THE WINE
HORN becomes shadow. Then from the doorway of the Inn, in the
shrill grey light SEELCHEN comes forth. She is pale, as if wan with
living; her eyes like pitch against the powdery whiteness of her face.
SEELCHEN. My heart is old.
But as she speaks, from far away is heard a faint chiming of
COWBELLS; and while she stands listening, LAMOND appears in the
doorway of the Inn.
LAMOND. Little soul!
SEELCHEN. You! Always you!
LAMOND. I have new wonders.
SEELCHEN. [Mournfully] No.
LAMOND. I swear it! You have not tired of me,